


guilt trip

by deniigiq



Series: finding the lost verse + [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin finally snaps, Enemies to Nemeses, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, His doneness levels are off the fucking charts, Paranoia, Stalking, The most tragic game of chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: Fett.The bastard.Gazing into the back of Han’s head, following Han with silent steps through the old palace, stepping in closer and closer to Luke’s puppy-dog Mando with murderous intent written in between all the scars on his head.Someone had to do something about that guy. He was either going to kill Mando or he was going to kill Han; either way, there was going to be tragedy in this family. And Han couldn’t very well just sit here and let it happen, now could he?(Han and Boba Fett's feud continues under Din's reign as Mand'alor and they drive everyone around them to tears.)
Relationships: Boba Fett & Han Solo, Din Djarin & Han Solo, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker & Han Solo
Series: finding the lost verse + [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192382
Comments: 29
Kudos: 516





	guilt trip

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I learn new things about Star Wars against my will everyday, but that knowledge is not at all tied together so I still know fuck all about this, thank you for your continued indulgence. 
> 
> I would like to subtitle this piece 'Han Solo and the No Good Very Bad Day also Known as Boba Fett's Existence.'
> 
> **this piece is inspired by my series **finding the lost and losing the found** but you don't have to read that to get this.

The book of etiquette said that Han was supposed to repeat the words ‘aw, I’m so happy for them’ anytime Luke and his sentient bucket did something that other people commented on in Han’s presence.

Leia, however said that he didn’t have to do this every time someone talked--and more importantly, he didn’t have to start every shit-talking statement about those two with it like it was some kind of barrier between their love and the foot that Han was about to drop on it.

She said that that was ‘passive-aggressive’ actually and if Han had a problem with Luke and Mr. Mando-Din’s relationship, then he could swallow it back and choke.

Han didn’t take offense. That was Leia’s protective instinct rearing its head.

He did, however, point out that Luke and Mr. Mando’s relationship was going to be the death of him.

Leia told him to embrace the love of the universe for once and he told her to let him explain.

It was like this.

Luke? Great fucking kid. Wow, what a great kid. Han loved that kid. Han would do anything for him, no questions asked. Perfect, wonderful, excellent.

Mando? Weird fucking guy. Yeah, kind of standoffish. But you know what? Every day he and Han got closer to a first-name basis. Totally acceptable, would not abandon in a lava pit. Keep up the good work.

The problem?

The Bastard, Greatest, Leia. Look at that fucker. Sat at Mando’s left hand side, smirking like undead roadkill. Fuck. That. Guy. God, someone just put him out of his misery already.

“Husband, dearest, love of my life,” Leia said tenderly, “You’re mixing Fett up with Bo-Katan again.”

No, he wasn’t.

Bo-Katan Kryze was her own kind of corruption. Han had some good words for her, too, but this was all bout the Bastard, Greatest.

That guy was _obsessed_ with Han, Leia. Obsessed. On the two occasions Han had meandered over to the Dune Sea to go see his weird, standoffish brother-in-law, he’d spent the whole time checking over his shoulders, waiting for the tell-tale sink of a dagger into his back. And what did he get for his vigilance?

Fett.

The bastard.

Gazing into the back of Han’s head, following Han with silent steps through the old palace, stepping in closer and closer to Luke’s puppy-dog Mando with murderous intent written in between all the scars on his head.

Someone had to do something about that guy. He was either going to kill Mando or he was going to kill Han; either way, there was going to be tragedy in this family. And Han couldn’t very well just sit here and let it happen, now could he?

He realized now that Leia had left the room.

Goddamnit.

He tried bringing it up with Luke but all Luke ever wanted to talk about was Ben’s progress and his own fantasies of stripping Mando down to his flightsuit and stealing his cape.

Han set the cape kink aside for later discussion.

Eventually, they were going to have to talk about Luke’s fascination with fabric, but today was not that day. Today was the day of talking about what they were going to do about that damn Fett.

Luke was surprised to hear that he was still bothering Han. His solution was simple: he’d just tell Mando to tell his guard dog to stand down.

Han laughed at the innocence of the thought.

That was simply not gonna happen, he explained to Luke. They had to be more creative about this or else Fett was going to sneak into sweet Din’s room at night and murder him in his sleep, and the only thing that Luke would have to remember him by would be his helmet.

Luke stared up at Han with eyes as blue as the sky.

That night, Leia came in and pinned Han to their bed. She asked him if he got off on giving her brother nightmares. Then she beat the shit out of him with a pillow and made him go apologize.

Luke was not receptive.

His sky blue eyes were red around the edges and overflowing with tears.

He was horrified because Mando trusted Fett. Trust him with his life, Han. And now Fett was going to kill him? For what??? Did he want to be Mand’alor? Why couldn’t he just ask? Din didn’t want the job anyways; he was desperate for someone to take it from him—they didn’t have to fight. No one had to die.

The guilt was suffocating, so naturally, Han came up with another lie to plaster on top of the first like a bandage.

He promised Luke that nothing was going to happen to Mando and that he personally would make sure of that. He’d talk to Fett and they’d work things out, alright?

Luke blinked fat tears down his cheeks and told Han that he loved him from the bottom of his heart.

Han accepted this honor with grace. He shut off the transceiver.

Leia slunk out of the bedroom and laid a single hand on her hip.

Han coughed.

Alright, alright, alright. So he _might’ve_ fucked this one up, but listen, Chewie, it wasn’t all his fault. He only had both Luke and Mando’s best interests at heart.

Chewie rolled his eyes and told him to take his paranoid rambling to the other side of the ship. He was trying to sleep.

Han scowled and left him be. He’d sleep in the cockpit, whatever. He’d done it a thousand times.

That damn Fett. Now ruining all Han’s personal relationships.

This was war.

This was officially war.

Chewie was sleeping and Leia wasn’t taking any messages, which meant that Han was technically unsupervised.

And this was his ship. So the only one making the rules now was him.

He set a course for Tatooine.

Din-Din Djarin was sleepy as hell when Han finally managed to break through the frontline of guards and get to his private rooms.

Han had the decency to knock, of course. And he was glad that he did because he heard a weird scrape on the other side of the door and realized that Din-Din Djarin had finally taken off his helmet.

He opened the door without any other armor on.

Han almost shielded his eyes but caught himself.

It was just a flightsuit. Everyone wore flightsuits.

“Hi,” he drawled handsomely, “You got a minute?”

Din said nothing. Han could only imagine that he was blinking slowly and blearily behind that there metal trashcan.

“Hello?” Han asked. “Anyone home? Talk? Talks for Mandos? You wanna talk?”

Din’s head did something strange and between one moment and the next he dropped to the ground. Han just barely caught him before his knee cartilage made contact with the uncovered flooring. That was a one-way-ticket to pain town, that was.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said. “Hello? Mando? Din-Din?”

There was only silence in return.

Was he—was he dead? Holy shit WAS HE DYING?

Check for blood, Solo, check for blood, check for blood, check for—

“What the _kriff_ are you doing?”

He looked up to see Bo-Katan Kryze standing there in horror. Her helmet hung from her hand.

Han suddenly transcended his body and saw himself from her point of view. He was kneeling on the floor with the Mand’alor, digging around his sides, trying to open his flightsuit.

This was, admittedly, not a good look.

“I—” he started.

“GET. UP.”

Right, he was going to. But ma’am—

“GET OFF HIM.”

Ma’am—

“Koska? KOSKA. I need an escort. NOW.”

“He’s gonna die,” Han emphasized with his hands over his head.

“And if he does, then you better believe that I’m putting _your_ head in his coffin as a parting gift,” Bo-Katan snarled.

She was scary. So unnecessarily scary.

“I didn’t—He just did that himself,” Han babbled, gesturing as best as he could without lowering his hands towards Mando’s crumpled form on the ground.

Bo-Katan kept a blaster on him.

“Don’t you move,” she said, slowly crouching down to paw around Djarin’s helmet. She didn’t take her eyes or her gun off Han as she dug fingers under Din’s collar to find his pulse.

Just as she did, a bevy of Mandalorians arrived to gasp at scene. One of them, of fucking course, was Fett.

He recoiled, then surged forward and pulled Din up into his arms so that he was more or less sitting up.

“Still breathing,” Bo-Katan said. “This shithead—”

“It’s the concussion,” Fett interrupted.

Bo-Katan stared.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“90%,” Fett said, “He wasn’t acting right when I left. Hence the medic.”

Han blinked and looked back and saw what could only be the medic looking put out and exhausted already. Han waved. The medic stared at him with venom in their eyes.

“I got ‘im,” Fett said, stooping down and pulling Din’s arm around his shoulder. Bo-Katan scoffed and holstered her gun to get Din’s other side.

“Get him out of here,” she snapped at the trio of guards that had Han good and surrounded.

UGH.

Chewie, _listen_.

Chewie held up a hand and indicated that he was not in a listening mood anymore. He was in a ‘calling your wife’ kind of mood.

This was the ultimate betrayal. Han could feel Fett watching him from Djarin’s sick bed. He could feel those eyes burning like lasers through the palace walls and the side of the MF.

Chewie told him that they were now doing a reality check, whether Han wanted one or not. And after that, he was calling Leia because this was some next-level bullshit and he was _worried_ , Han.

Han groaned.

That was all there was to do.

Leia asked him calmly to explain it all to her again. She was so calm. She was so understanding. Han couldn’t feel his balls anymore, they had definitely climbed back up into his body.

“I—he—it was a misunderstanding,” he said. “I went to go talk to Din. I got there and knocked and he opened the door and passed out and everyone thought that I was the one who’d made him do that, but it was a concussion.”

Leia’s chest rose and fell evenly.

“You know, if it was any other person besides you, I would have called bullshit,” she said. “But I trust you, Han.”

Han’s heart soared. His left ball considered dropping again.

“You do?” he asked.

“I do,” Leia said, lowering her eyes. “And because I do, I’m not going to skin you and carve your bones into jewelry.”

…right. That was? Good?

“Let’s make an agreement instead,” Leia said. “Let’s agree that you will stop obsessing over Boba Fett, and I will look into this problem for you. What do you say?”

Han felt like he didn’t actually have a choice here. So he said that that sounded perfect and he was beyond grateful that Leia was listening to him.

This was the right thing to say.

This allowed him to stay in bed with her that night.

Han was banned from having contact with Luke, Din-Din Djarin, and anyone at the stolen Hutt palace until Leia met with all of those separate entities. He was told in the meantime to go apologize to Chewie and do whatever it took to get back into his good graces.

Chewie was easy. All it took was a solid meal and some real talk.

Chewie tried to get Han to see that his obsession with Fett trying to ruin his life was unfounded. For all they knew, he had only ever been interested in Han for two to three jobs, no more and no less.

Han had worked him up in his head to this monster because of the sarlacc thing. That was where this was coming from. It was a misplaced sense of revenge and frustration at being so helpless during that time.

That sounded about right.

Chewie was always so wise.

Han paid for two more rounds for the both of them.

He got a call from Luke a little while later, which took him off-guard. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to Luke. His palms sweated a little as Luke’s big blues asked him what the hell was going on in the Dune Sea at the moment. He couldn’t get through to Din-Din and he was getting worried-worried.

Han said that he probably wasn’t the best person to ask given that he had been given a list as long as an arm of tasks that his dear wife wanted him to do.

Luke took this with his usual, heartbreaking grace. He smiled and said thanks for trying anyways. He said he missed Han and Leia and hoped to see them in person again soon.

He hung up and Han went to the bedroom and laid himself out on the floor because that was what he deserved for being the _worst person alive._

The moment Leia opened the door to their apartment, Han was on her like shit on a slipper.

She told him to let her at least have a drink first. He made her the drink. She held it in one hand and her forehead with the other and said, “Okay, so don’t freak out.”

He swore that he wouldn’t.

He asked if Din-Din was okay.

She said yes, Djarin was fine. Still a little woozy--it turned out that he’d had his head slammed against a console four times in a conflict with about six droids who’d decided that he wasn’t allowed to be on the ship he’d been invited to tour. He was handling all that as well as anyone in such a position could.

But there was just one thing.

Han leaned on the counter, clutching at it for emotional support. The wait was killing him.

“So,” Leia said. “I’m not saying that your paranoia was right. Let me get that clear. But I _am_ saying that sometimes, you have been known to have a good instinct or two.”

Oh?

And?

“Honey, sit with me.”

On the kitchen floor?

“Sit.”

Well alright.

Leia reached out and took his hand between both of hers.

“Fett’s absolutely still trying to kill you,” she said. “He’s recorded every move you’ve made out of this place for the last five months.”

…five…

..for the last five….

Aha.

Ahahahaha.

“Han. Han, look at me. It’s going to be okay—”

AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA.

 _That motherfucker_.

This.

Was.

War.

Han refused to die first. That was all he had to say about his future plans.

Leia told him that that was a _highly_ ominous and concerning goal, and that he should focus, instead, on the to-do list that she’d given him earlier.

She was in contact with Bo-Katan Kryze. Bo-Katan Kryze was taking care of it.

Han cackled maybe an eensy bit hysterically and snapped that he didn’t trust Kryze with a fucking sewing needle. Like hell he was trusting her with his life. The only person in that whole palace he almost trusted had passed out in a hallway mere days ago.

Leia told him to lower his voice.

She knew what would make him feel better.

Luke was absolutely horrified at everything that was happening. It was somehow comforting to have him flailing around, trying to think of some way to make things right.

The longer Han spent with him and with Ben tucked under his chin, the less he felt like his blood pressure was going to break new records.

He stroked Ben’s hair and lightly kissed the space under his ear so that he giggled and wriggled around to hide in the other side of Han’s neck.

Calming.

Calming, calming, calming.

This was why people had kids, huh? This was it?

Luke flopped down on his bed next to Han and huffed loudly.

“I could just stab him,” he finally suggested. “Din wouldn’t like it, but if that’s what it takes, I guess I’m okay with that being the cause of our divorce.”

Han stopped time for a moment there to process the entirety of what had just left Luke’s mouth.

The blood pressure contest was then _right back on_.

He would NOT—repeat, NOT—be the cause of Luke and Din’s divorce. Fuck. No. These two saps had lived their whole lives being kicked in the chest for other people’s mistakes and profit and the last thing Han was going to do was to kick either of them one last time after they’d finally found something good specifically for them.

Hell no. What did he look like, some kind of coward?

No. Sit the fuck down, Luke Skywalker. Sit down and shut up and never mention that bullshit ever again, you hear?

Luke face stared up at him, very wide in all ways, and Han realized that he was standing.

“You think I’m living my life for other people’s mistakes?” Luke asked quietly.

Oh no.

Oh, no, no. It wasn’t like that. No, Luke. It wasn’t like that.

“Is it like I have no personality of my own or something?”

Luke. Luke, buddy, let’s not go there, okay? Han had just fucked up. He was just spoutin’ off nonsense.

Luke lowered his head and his eyes to the floor.

Han wondered if becoming a worm was considered a downward or upwards career move. On the one hand, no feet to stick in his mouth. On the other hand, no…hands.

The jury was still out.

Han was putting Ben down and sitting with Luke until he stopped being so quiet.

Luke’s epiphany for the night was that he no longer cared if he was living his life for other people’s mistakes because that was the only way he knew how to live and anyways, Din loved him despite that and didn’t mind that he apparently had no real personality either.

He flounced out of his room at the call of one of the kiddos and Han let the jury finally shuffle back in.

The verdict was that he was a fucking asshole and that becoming a worm was definitely a downwards career move.

He didn’t know how to set this right. The only way he could think of involved going to the one place he wasn’t allowed to at the moment.

But Luke.

But Leia.

But Luke.

But Leia.

HNG.

CHEWIE.

Chewie said that he was so glad that Han had come to him instead of doing something vastly stupid on his own. He said that this was a sign of personal and spiritual growth.

Then he listened while Han listed out his sins for the evening and set a course for Tatooine.

This was their lives. If they were going to fuck it up, they would do it together.

It was impossible to sneak through sand dunes and Han was tired of all of this. He just knocked at the palace doors this time, and to his surprise, the knock was answered.

Bo-Katan stood on the other side of the door, all gussied up in her armor.

“Listen,” Han said. “This is a literal guilt trip.”

“You are the only person who I want to see right now,” Bo-Katan said.

Oh god, was this what happened when the stars aligned?

“Apologize.”

“Never.”

“Apologize.”

“I see no reason to.”

“Fett, look at me,” Bo-Katan said, inches away from the Bastard’s face in a _very_ vindicating fashion. “If you do not, then I will break Creed and stab you through the throat as we speak here.”

Fett leaned forward in his seat until his nose was alarmingly, uncomfortably close to Bo-Katan’s. Han almost felt like he ought to look away and give them their privacy.

“Stab me then,” Fett said.

There was a pause.

And then suddenly Han was the one trying to hold the lady back. He shouted for guards, but what he got was a knight in shining armor throwing open the doors.

“I’ve had it with both of you. You’re acting like _children_. All you do all day long is argue, argue, _argue_ , it’s driving me out of my MIND. There are two rules, do you see these? How many? TWO. That many. Rule one—No. I’m talking now. Shut up, stand down—rule one: Do not. Take off. The helmet. Rule two: in times of strife you support. Your fellow. Mandalorians. Did you get that? Do you want me to say it again? Here, I’ll say it again: you _support your fellow Mandalorians_.”

Holy shit, holy shit.

Din-Din had a rope and that rope had an end after all.

Han was shitting himself and he wasn’t even in either of the hotseats that Djarin had forced his advisors into.

“I don’t care what you have to say for yourselves,” Djarin carried on. “I don’t care what history you have, what wrongs you’ve caused, what your goals are or any of that shit. I am done. If this continues, I will take this _fucking_ laser stick and I will go on a fourteen year exodus around this galaxy until I find a suitable place where I will dig a forge out of the mud, melt this thing down, re-forge it into something so useless that not even a Jawa would want it for scrap, eat it, and then live out the remainder of my life in a hovel that I will build wherever it punctures my intestines first, thereby ruining both of your meagre reputations for the rest of your natural lives. Have I made myself clear?”

Han pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He’d never heard Din-Din speak more than three sentences at a time before. This was like a month’s worth of words for him.

Someone had to stop him before he ran out.

“I _said_ , have I made myself clear?”

Yes, sir. Yes, you sure have. Han didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, but he was fired up and ready to do it.

“You will stop this petty fighting,” Din-Din ordered with both of his bare hands digging into the back of Bo-Katan’s office table’s chair. “Or I will make both of your lives a living hell. Is that understood?”

It was.

“Good. I’m leaving now. Neither of you speak to me for the next 48 hours. Solo, with me.”

On it. Bye-bye, advisors.

In his personal rooms, Din screamed into his palms through his helmet right after Han fessed up to what he’d done. He did it so unabashedly that Han was legitimately no longer worried for himself.

He acted without thinking and grabbed both of Din’s hands and dropped to his knees to promise him that it was going to be alright. Everything would be fine. He just needed for both of them to be on the same page when they approached Luke later.

He realized after a moment that he was being stared at in complete and total silence.

“Don’t touch me,” Din said.

Han tore his hands back.

“Sorry,” he blurted out. “It’s an automatic reaction. I wasn’t even thinking—”

“I’m sorry, Han,” Din interrupted like a person, a real person, not some guy trying to crush as much emotion as possible out of his voice so that his head could fit in that helmet.

Han almost slapped him.

“Wh—no. Don’t apologize to me, I’m the one who fucked up,” he said.

Din stood up and the motion forced Han to stumble back or else be within kissing distance.

“I will have Fett apologize to you for having caused you such distress,” Din said.

He wasn’t listening. He was actually saying shit that no one ever said to Han on account of Han being, well, himself, and it should have been soul-shaking etc. etc., but like.

LUKE WAS SAD, MAN.

Han grabbed the sides of Din’s helmet and ended whatever the guy was saying in an instant.

“I need you to tell me what makes Luke special _right now_ ,” he said.

Din’s hands gripped his wrists.

You know what?

Han deserved this. Both of these sprained wrists--he deserved them, regardless of Leia’s fury.

Luke, freshly frazzled having sprinted off his ship the second it touched down, snapped at Din to explain himself and Din said nothing. He was too pissed to speak. Luke looked from him back to Han with his brow drawn so low that his whole face looked twenty years older.

“What the fresh hell is going on with you two?” he demanded. “You’re both—”

“I said not to touch me,” Din spat.

There was a pause.

“Han,” Leia asked slowly. “You did _what_?”

No. Not like that. It wasn’t like that. It was something else.

“HAN.”

NO, NOT THAT EITHER.

“I am not trying to fuck your husband, Luke,” Han said like he was having an out of body experience.

Luke no longer looked so sure of himself. He clung to Din.

“Did he touch you?” he asked Din in terror.

Han sagged against the chair he’d been stationed in and stared up at the ceiling.

What was that saying? That one about anything that can go wrong, always going wrong?

“I don’t wish to discuss this,” Din announced. “I will speak with you all at another time.”

“Din?” Luke asked after him.

“Djarin, wait,” Leia said.

“DIN.”

And there he went. Hopefully to somewhere nice. Somewhere tropical. Anywhere to get away from this shitshow—Han didn’t blame him in the least.

Bony hands found their way to Han’s shoulders.

Luke’s eyes had never been bluer.

“Start from the top,” he ordered with the fury of a legion of dead jedis at his back.

God, what a story. What an embarrassing, endless story.

Luke held his face with both hands. Leia turned around and pressed her palms into the small of her back and breathed deeply in and out.

“I told you,” she told Luke gently. “I told you not to marry one like this.”

“I heard you,” Luke confirmed.

He held out one hand and Leia took it; neither of them shifted position.

“He’s so pretty,” Leia said.

“So well-meaning,” Luke agreed.

Han didn’t like when they talked about him like this, like he wasn’t here. It made him feel a little like a hostage stuck out on a stool in front of a live audience of people who didn’t actually know why he was there.

“Can I just blanket statement a ‘sorry’ over all this?” he asked.

Luke and Leia sighed at once.

Only days later, and mostly forgiven on account of having caused this mess in the right spirit at least, Han got a written apology from Fett. It gave no indication whatsoever that he intended to let Han live his life unbothered by his presence. It was still an apology, though, which was a minor miracle in and of itself.

Han resolved simply to spend the rest of his days one step ahead of Fett, and in the worst way that he could think of.

He told Din that he wanted to become one of his advisors for the Mandalorian court.

Din asked him if he was going to fucking touch him again. There was a singular answer to that and it was ‘no,’ and Han did _not_ miss that cue for a second time.

Din took that into his heart and told Han that he liked a guy with the capacity for learning, and then said that he was already walking a razor’s edge with his current set of advisors, so no. Han could not join as an advisor. What he _could_ do however, was join Din when he sat down with Fett in a meeting to get them both back on the same page.

Han said that he could think of no greater offer.

He had gained new respect for his brother-in-law over the last week.

Din told him that he’d send word soon, and sure enough, within a few days Han was standing by while Din sat across from Fett and told him in a borderline threatening way that he viewed Fett as an older brother.

A guide.

Someone who he would trust with his life and someone who he would kill for without question. And to know that someone who Din had placed so much trust in, despite everyone telling him otherwise, had gone out of his way to make Din’s own new and extended family feel unsafe in their home?

He didn’t know how to feel at the moment.

Fett was boiling under that vacant façade of his, Han could see the cracks starting to appear around the edges of it.

He tried not to show his glee.

“I understand,” Fett said simply. “It was not my intention to cause you upset, Din. I’m humbled by your dedication. It is an honor to be viewed as a brother by you.”

“As it is an honor to have someone so understanding to replace those who I’ve lost,” Din said.

Han could have ridden the ensuing silence all the way to shore.

“For you, I will put a stay on his impending execution by my hand,” Fett finally said.

“And you will cease the hunting and researching?” Din asked.

“I will consider cutting back on the hunting and researching,” Fett allowed, turning to stare right into Han’s eyes.

Han resisted the urge to flip him both birds at once.

This was a serious moment for all of them.

“Thank you,” Din said. “Thank both of you. Now please, get out of here and send in my husband.”

Righty-o, champ.

Han let the ancient and wicked beast stand up and head towards the door first. He didn’t want him at his back for so much as a second.

Luke didn’t even give Han and Fett a chance to make it through the door, however. He wriggled between them in eel-fashion and flung himself at Din’s chest.

Fett closed the door behind them before any obscene sounds reached the hallway.

The hall was empty.

Han stared at the side of Fett’s face. Fett stared back.

Fett drew a single finger across his throat. Han felt his lip curl.

“You just fucking try, _brother_ ,” he said.

“I’m feeling charitable. You’ve got a ten second head start,” Fett told him sweetly.

They both held their breath.

“One,” Fett said.

Oh, like hell, Han was dying here.

Sorry, Din. Thanks for trying. Now what were the chances of jumping off this banister and still having knees at the end?


End file.
